


Forging

by pretchatta



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Children of the Watch, Death Watch (Star Wars), Gen, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), The Way of the Mandalore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretchatta/pseuds/pretchatta
Summary: The Armorer stands at her forge, her hammer striking the white-hot metal with an almost musical ringing, over and over and over. It comforts her; the familiar motions, the rhythmic noise, the heat of the flames. And of course, she is protecting the old ways, the Way of the Mandalore. That warmth reaches further, through her armour and all the way to her heart.She can still remember the Split, now thirty years past.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Forging

The Armorer stands at her forge, her hammer striking the white-hot metal with an almost musical ringing, over and over and over. It comforts her; the familiar motions, the rhythmic noise, the heat of the flames. And of course, she is protecting the old ways, the Way of the Mandalore. That warmth reaches further, through her armour and all the way to her heart.

She can still remember the Split, now thirty years past. She had been young, then, and eager, her blood singing for battle. She had wanted what they had all wanted, to return to the old ways, to be strong again. They had thought Mandalore was the key to it all.

Then that armourless Duchess had managed to thwart Death Watch’s plan to set the stage for their uprising, and the enemy Dooku had withdrawn from their temporary alliance as a result. Without the support of the Separatists and their droid army, retaking their home was suddenly out of reach. For many, this had been the time to reconsider their priorities.

Governor Vizsla and Lady Kryze had of course advocated for a new plan. Regroup, rebuild, and find new allies to try again. Mandalore was the key to everything. All they needed to do was to turn the people’s opinion of their New Mandalorian government sour, and there would be nothing those weak fools in power could do to stop the revolution. 

For the Armorer and her clan, it wasn’t so straightforward. Why was there such a need to go through so much effort? Were they not Mandalorians now, even without their precious planet? Why couldn’t they simply accept Mandalore as lost and start again, and rebuild their society somewhere else in the galaxy? They still had their armour, their culture, their traditions; they didn’t need something so plain as a ball of rock to keep their way of life alive.

And so they Split. House Vizsla and its allies remained on Krownest -- presumably only as long as until the New Mandalorians chased them somewhere else -- but those who felt they had suffered enough meaningless struggle found someplace new to settle down. They called themselves simply The Watch; someone joked that they left the Death behind with those who so clearly wanted to meet it. They found their own corner of the galaxy to make their home, and they started to rebuild.

It was true that their homeworld held a strong connection to their history, with its cities, ruling Houses and _beskar_ mines. Therefore, without it, the old ways became all the more important to the Watch, and they found themselves clinging tighter than ever to their culture. They wore their armour for longer periods; they recited the key tenets of Mandalorian traditions often; they sparred frequently, making use of the full array of weaponry each warrior possessed.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as all that. The Mandalorian wars may have ceased (albeit temporarily, as these were Mandalorian wars, after all) but the great Clone Wars still raged across the galaxy. The Watch could not escape it, and being Mandalorian, neither could they stand idly by. There were many worlds that the Separatists sought to claim, worlds the Republic did not deem worthy or tactical to protect, and so the Watch stepped in. They fought, they shielded, they saved. They also lost, and mourned, and remembered. With civilian casualties so high, foundlings were common, and the Watch's numbers grew. Children were always the future, and the Children of the Watch were just as Mandalorian as those who adopted them.

Throughout, the Watch remained aware of events on Mandalore. When Viszla invaded Sundari, they were surprised by his apparent success, until news reached them of the events that followed. The insurrection by the outsider Maul, who wielded the ancient Darksaber in a mockery of its true symbol, forcing Mandalorians to kneel before his crime syndicates, brought them only a grim sense of vindication. It was painful to hear, but that was why the Watch had Split; they had known that nothing good would ever have come of that single-minded focus on Mandalore. 

The Armorer had been warmed to hear of the Siege of Mandalore, of Lady Kryze ousting Maul and the criminals, even if it was done with the Republic’s soldiers and -- worst of all -- Jedi. Kryze was doing what she had to for the good of their people; perhaps she had not strayed so far from the true ways after all. But then the Empire had come and she had allowed them to take over completely, not strong enough to stop them, and the Armorer had stopped paying attention. The Watch had had their own problems with the Empire to deal with.

Clan Saxon knew of their existence, and what they were capable of. The Watch and its Children were seen as a threat to the stability of Imperial Mandalore, even if they had no intention of ever going back, and they knew their choices were to stand and fight a battle they would lose, or save what they had and run. With the war ended, they retreated to the Outer Rim, avoiding the Empire's ever-growing reach. For safety, those who had once been part of Death Watch shed their names completely, and warriors stopped removing their helmets except in front of members of their own clan. The Way of the Mandalore was recited aloud in a constant reminder of who they were, so that if any of them fell, the others would carry the memories. They still gathered foundlings, and sometimes, the Watch would divide, their Children creating new tribes that spread out in hidden coverts across the galaxy. There was safety in numbers, but it was dangerous for too many of them to live together at once, lest they draw attention to themselves.

Then had come the Great Purge. Her Tribe had gone underground as soon as the chilling news reached them, living in caves and sewers and abandoned buildings, rarely leaving the covert at all. The number of new foundlings dropped dramatically; it was hard to come across children when only one of you was amongst the other beings in the galaxy at any given time. Helmets were no longer removed even in front of one's clan, if any of the clan were even alive. Mandalorians became lucrative targets for bounty hunters, the _beskar_ in their armour a valuable commodity now that its rightful keepers were no longer limiting its trade. Even with fewer foundlings, there was no longer enough _beskar_ to sponsor them all, and even the older ones couldn't have more than a helmet. It was a cruel tragedy that the Empire was denying them their inheritance, even after it fell.

Looking back, it was obvious what the differences were between her own formative experience of Mandalorian culture and that of, say, the foundling Din Djarin. As the Watch clung to their ways, so too did the Children, and indeed that almost desperate grip of the culture was all they knew. The Tribe elders hadn’t even told the younger foundlings about their distant cousins; if any survived, they were no longer Mandalorian, and so not worthy of being part of their history. Only the fact that other coverts existed, and were to be helped should they ever cross paths, was taught to them. It wasn't important, not compared to their other lessons; how to fight, how to survive, how to live with honour.

As the Armorer worked, she reflected on the years that had passed, on the losses she had suffered. Even before Din Djarin had crossed blasters with those remnants of the Empire, she was the last in their Tribe who had any memories of simply being in the Mandalore system itself. Back then she had had a name, and a family, and a foolish cause she thought was worthy. That woman was an entirely different person. Now, she had been hardened by true warfare, had seen a thousand hopeful futures blossom and shatter before her eyes, and had learned what was important; what must be protected above all else. 

The sharp clang of her hammer on the metal was a heartbeat. She wasn’t just reclaiming _beskar_ ; with every blow, she kept the Way of the Mandalore alive. When she was finished, she would take what was rightfully theirs to the Children of the Watch, and it would protect them, as they would protect the Way, and the Way would keep them all safe.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sha'kaji](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694234) by [Passionate_Storyteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passionate_Storyteller/pseuds/Passionate_Storyteller)




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